


eleven: the bear, the bear

by wordtheef



Series: thirteen ways of looking at a Lannister [11]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 23:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20455298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordtheef/pseuds/wordtheef
Summary: Brienne expects to dream of shaggy hair and thick white teeth, snapping on her skin: but no.





	eleven: the bear, the bear

_You’ll meet the bear come morning_ they tell her, and they laugh — laugh!

Brienne expects to dream of shaggy hair and thick white teeth, snapping on her skin, but no: she closes her eyes and there is _Jaime Lannister_ kissing her soft and tender and sweet, saying things she can’t understand, running his hands up the inside of her thighs while —

She wakes sweating, swearing, hot. Fumbling at herself, and furious: he would never touch her, never.

And never with two hands.

They ride to Kings Landing and she can’t stare at him and can’t _stop_ staring (Jaime oh Jaime), and worst, she can’t angle herself in the saddle quite right to push against that ache, that center of the place where she wants him to be.

Jaime is looking at her.

Brienne turns away.

Harrenhal. He’d _looked_ at her then, in Harrenhal; she saw him in the baths and she turned away but not fast enough.

She hadn’t wanted to see him, then; she hadn’t wanted him to see her. The towels barely covered her essential bits and she cursed every inch of skin laid bare, because the Kingslayer kept his eyes on her naked body like he had the right.

In her room and alone again she dreams of him again, the same dream she had before the bearpit; he calls her _honey-sweet_ and licks clean where she’s dripping, bites her hip and mumbles _Black and brown and covered in ..._

Jaime, she says, dreaming. Stop singing that. Come kiss me.

“I’ve better things to do to you.”

She sits upright. Holds the sleeping-fur to her chest. “Are you real?” she says, because she isn’t sure, not now, how can she know from certain?

He moves nearer. “What will you do if I am?”

Brienne swallows. If he is only a dream ... “What did you hear?”

“Something about a bear,” he says. “And my name.” He’s still closer, closer. He pulls on the furs. “_Honey_.”

He is kind in her dreams. That’s the difference; that’s how she knows now she is awake.

She holds on to the blanket — the little bit she still has. “I can’t do this with you.”

“Why not?” he says.

And now the furs are gone entirely.

Her skin prickles with cold, with awareness. Bare indeed.

And he’s looking at her face. “Tell me what you want.”

“I don’t know the words.”

“You know the songs. You know the _wanting_ — don’t you?”

She did. 

“So tell me. Show me.”

It’s strange to unlace someone else, strange to watch the hard swallow move down his throat as she looks at him now — finally she is allowed to look.

He catches her face and pulls her in, a hard kiss, and _gods_ he’s hard — his hand slips between her legs and touches her even as they’re standing there and she gasps into his mouth.

He’s saying something she can’t understand, it might be Dothraki for all she knows but the words sound so sweet and his voice is dry, thick. _Jaime_, says her heart, and _Mine_.

They’re on the bed and he pushes open her legs, bends down to lick her, his tongue slow and hot, now teasing and now sure, pressing into her with one broad thumb. He laughs: _From the strong came forth sweetness._

She clenches her fist in his hair, drags him up to kiss her — his mouth tastes sticky and yes, sweet. And they’re like that — together — when he goes inside her. Another new thing, another thing without words except for _Yes_ and _More_ and his name.

He is still kissing her and she’s kissing him back, they are moving together over each other and through — her body is shaking and so is his. New and familiar, foreign and home: that is Jaime inside her now.

You know the songs, he’d said. You know the wanting.

And it’s more than that. She knew this feeling from the ocean, the essential draw back and return; she knew it from when it took her under, her breath trapped. It was like the catch in her throat when she saw him in the baths, nude and boastful. She knew then all this would come, surely as if it had already been written and were only waiting for its right time to be read.


End file.
